The Very Stuff of Life: Insights on a Close Friendship
by Hannanball13
Summary: An insight on the relationship between Shelagh, and Chummy. Newlywed Shelagh finds closeness with new mother, Chummy, and they embark on journeys of love, doubts, and adventure which brings them closer.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is my debut in the "Call the Midwife" FFN fandom, although I am a veteran in a few others! I do hope you'll enjoy this chapter, for I enjoyed it so much I wish to write more (even though it was the most difficult piece I have ever begun, due to the diction, and eloquence of our beloved characters!) On behalf of my aching fingertips from clicking away at these keys all day, I present to thee, this fluffy fic!**_

_**-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)**_

**XXX**

It's was only in the grimness of a situation that our Chummy ever exposed any words about her past in India, and her prim boarding school days. It would be a lie to say that none of us were curious about the memories which so slowly, yet terribly blackened her wonderful soul- for it _had_ to be so painfully unrelenting that her insecurities shown through her every action. Her unfortunate lack of self-confidence hurt us all, especially when we all looked upon a woman who was fully, and truly able, not only in her nursing, but also in motherhood.

Peter beamed with pride, bouncing along with the Hindi lullabies, swaying with his wife's rhythmic, intoxicatingly soothing rocking each moment he had a chance. Doctor Turner never felt more productive than after a day with Nurse Noakes on his call. Shelagh had never had a friend more versed in life than Chummy, which she was taking advantage of during the early months of her forming romantic relationship with Patrick. All of the midwives cherished her, wished only the best for her, and loved her with all their hearts. She was wanted in Nonnatus House, respected in Poplar, and taken care of by all of her own, as they were taken care of by her.

Stories of Mater, and memories of her Father were few and far between after she and Peter had wed, and even less so when Baby Fred had been born. Everyone at Nonnatus had been content after the cancelation of the block's demolition, but Chummy was the most. This had been her first real home, with family, and proper support. We were all rooting for her. No one deserved to have so much astonishingly overwhelming vacillation for oneself. She was kind, she was careful, and she was deserving, and how we loved her. She had made her friends, created a family here, and here she would stay, to help us wallop through the challenges she had already faced, and most definitely make them easier for the rest of us.

Chummy trusted everyone in Nonnatus House, and we did her. It wasn't so out of the ordinary that Sister Julienne would be smoothing the dark, fine hair atop Little Freddie's tiny head while his mother was called away from _her_ matronly duties to assist with another's. Often, even Sister Evangelina had taken a liking to lugging the little one around on her hip during monotonous chores, and regular doings. It was surely a sight the way he was fawned over, fussed about and loved within the walls of this old place. Neither Peter nor Chummy went a day without verbalizing their appreciation for all of our support, our time, and our easy hearted treatment of their bundle, and both would give anything for it to be absolutely known. But, what we sought after was the company and great friendship which we already received. Chummy and Peter had forged bonds in Poplar unbreakable, and incomparable. They gave so much, and took so little, yet they barely knew the importance of their being, and the impact they made, and still continued to have on all of us.

It would stay that way, if not forever, then for a very long time.

XXX

Shelagh had been fluttering about the garden for most of the day, digging, weeding, and humming a tune which the flowers whimsically teetered to. Back and forth went the grass, as the hot sun accompanied the delicate ladies' smooth song. There was dirt under her nails, grease in her hair, and sweat trickling down her white brow. Uncharacteristically tattered garments covered her as she tended to the vegetables, and herbs whilst keeping an eye on Little Fred who had fallen into a light slumber underneath the shade of a nearby tree. Chummy had been called away to the birth of yet another Preston Baby. A girl one hoped, as Mrs. Preston had her hands full already with five boys, two under the age of three. Although the young mom was perfectly content with her all male brood, Shelagh had taken to praying for a little girl for the couple, because she knew, even if they didn't say it out loud, they were in desperate need of a tiny babe to swaddle in pink.

The topic of babies had come to immediate attention in the Turner household, and Shelagh was uneasy at the thought at first, and still a tad bit still. Patrick admitted he'd never dreamed of having a little girl, and was relieved the day Timothy was born screaming in all his boyish glory, but if she were to be honest, she always imagined ruffles and bows, dresses, and skirts, not knickers, and overalls. It wasn't that she was immune to the charm of the giggling Baby Fred, or the sweetness of her own Stepson, but it was more that she had never seen blue in her dreams.

She was making her way to her feet after hearing the shrill outcry of the small child in her current care. He had her fumbling toward the carriage as if he were in immediate danger, when it all it was—was a bout of hunger. With him cradled in the crook of her ready arm the fussing nearly ceased, turning into a sporadic whining which she could inevitably chirp away with a sweet psalm. And that is precisely what she did. He radiated warmth from his midafternoon snooze, and against her chest it felt welcome, for it seemed she was battling a bug similar to a mite, but not as severe. Her nausea was little throughout the day, and much worse at night, though she didn't complain to Patrick, she had let Chummy know in the midst of one of their chats, but even as a nurse, her friend didn't pry. She was brought up never to pry, Mater would disapprove, and for years she had only tried to do what Lady Browne had intended her daughter to. It took a long while for Chummy to find she was just more than a long dog with a short name, but a being worth more than just this and that.

Shelagh wrapped her arms around Freddie, before grabbing a bottle having begun to heat already. Sister Evangeline had seen to it that the milk had been on at the exact time it had to be, and was now rummaging through a cabinet for perhaps a crisp or two. "Chummy leave you with the little chap again?" she boomed, taking a pastry-type cake to her mouth. "Seems she never can take him herself…"

The younger, working clothes clad woman only smiled as a meek response, knowing this was just her former fellow Sister bickering. Instead she turned most of her attention to Baby Fred, "We're just a little peckish now, aren't we?" she cooed, tilting the bottle for him, beginning to rock left to right. She hadn't ever been as flustered over Sister Evangelina's comments as she was now, watching Freddie enjoy his midday suckle, content and wonderfully cared for. It was all Chummy who'd made him the well-groomed, calm lad he was these days, but she had her own qualms about leaving him be as often as she did. Sister Evangelina didn't need to be adding to her terror that she may become as worse a mother as her own. "You know, Sister," she began, glancing up from the child, "I believe you'll find every free moment Nurse Noakes receives is spent with Freddie, and I don't know how you get off pretending that she is incompetent in her motherly role."

A wide eyed Evangelina furrowed her brow, "Well you're just tongue and cheek now that you and Doctor Turner exchanged your vows, don't forget I am still much older than you," the old woman pointed accusingly.

Shelagh sighed, "It's just that you shouldn't speak of Chummy that way. She is still obliged to care for the women and babies of the district even with her own child. He will be waiting for her here at Nonnatus, to be loved in a way we cannot when she gets back." After placing the half empty bottle on the table, she swiped a strand of her hair from her glasses, and adjusted the baby so that he was to be burped.

The Sister shoved the rest of the delectable to one side of her mouth, "I apologize, I didn't know that Nurse Noakes' absence was such a tender topic for you Nurse Turner," she replied insincerely. "What has you so touchy these days, huh?" Sister Evangeline demanded, rinsing her fingers of chocolate crumbs.

"There is no particular reason, Sister," Shelagh lied. "You just take a moment to think before you say such things around Chummy," she stated a matter of fact. "She does her best, and her best is perfect." She wiped spit up from Freddie's lips, and traced down the bridge of his nose to the edge of his chin. "He's perfect," she whispered truthfully. A grand smile came across her face which showed her pearly teeth. Sister Evangelina rolled her eyes, escaping the room with a huff.

xxx

It wasn't until later in the evening that Chummy arrived home, haggard, and looking worn down. Fred was on his back in his bassinet; arms outstretched, legs curled, and lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he fought off sleep. It was as if he had been waiting for her. Peter had called to inform his removed wife that he'd be missing dinner for a bit of overtime, and Patrick had rang to say he would be late too, so Shelagh thought it best to stick out the rest of her day off at Nonnatus anyway. She was warding off the sandman as well, looking nearly as exhausted as the taller woman, both sets of their eyes glossy from obvious tiredness.

It was in one swoop that Chummy had Freddie in her aching arms for a little cuddle. They were after all overdue for a moment of peace. Even through her exhaustion the broad shouldered lady swooned over the boy, and quickly he had drifted off to dreamland the second she laid him in her own crook.

"Hello there, Little Bean," she directed hushed, unnoticing of Shelagh sitting upright now, victor in her battle against her heavy eyelids. "It deems me comforted to think that one day you may meet Frieda Preston and understand why your mum had to be away for so long, today."

There was a settling silence, filled with light breathing, and the crickets in the night.

Shelagh cleared her throat, "I'm sure he doesn't mind," she laughed.

Chummy's head shot up startled, before adding, "Well, it does make our time together all the more precious…" she smirked letting out a nervous giggle, "but, I do wish I could be with him every moment of every day. It's a strange, and uncontrollable, curious, desire- that I need him to be with me during all the minutes of every hour." As she adjusted the boy's jumper she raised her brow, "I am sure glad he looks more like his Daddy as time goes by, he will be a right handsome chap, I bet."

Shelagh chuckled a little more, "You're certainly right about that, Chummy. And, although I may not be a parent yet, I have delivered my fair share of these tiny babes, and I think that curious feeling you have, may be the least curious in the entire world."

"I would never mean it in a bad way," she interjected quickly. "I mean, it's the best feeling I've ever experienced, but at the same time the worst, because it's downright impossible for me to be at my deliveries, and nursing him at the same time…" Chummy looked about ready to tear up as she observed her son with every ounce of her attention.

"Why, of course," Shelagh assured, "you're a great mother, all of the good mothers are the same."

There was another pause, lengthier than the last. As Shelagh crossed and uncrossed her arms, and examined her fingernails, she grew impatient with her own anxiousness, and had to interrupt for another time. "Chummy?" she inquired.

The uniform clad midwife connected to her friend's gaze, seeming the least bit disturbed, enjoying the company of a light mannered woman so late at night. "Yes?" There was a pleasant curve to her mouth, one the still rather new Mrs. Turner enjoyed.

"Not to stray away from my own business, and rudely into yours…" she lowered her voice as if ready to say something taboo, "….but, when you found out you were expecting Little Fred, what were your thoughts?"

The dark haired woman seemed to hold on to her child tighter, as if it were the first and last time he'd be in her grasp, "I tell you it was a right shock… I was in Africa after all when it completely dawned on me, even though I had-had my own suspicions for a little more than a month..." she blushed at the talk of her own maturity, and then grew rather happy. "To answer your question, and not to sound too terribly cliché: I was brimming with excitement and fear simultaneously. It was the most confused, and sure I had ever been…"

Shelagh held on to her own bright smile for a while, listening to Chummy's enthusiastic recollection, while attempting to keep the real question buried deep enough so that she could finish being told the response to her prior inquisition. She nearly burst as her fellow midwife's enchanting memory came to a close, but there was still hesitation in her voice, "And how did you tell P.C. Noakes?!" she wiggled in her seat like a small child being told a fable.

"Poor Peter thought I had a flu, was completely worried I'd caught a bug on our journey to Sierra Leone," Chummy explained, "so I had no time to cook up a creative way to give him the news… we hadn't been… trying," she breathed embarrassed still mentioning such a thing her Mater would scoff, and spit at her for discussing. "I just told him. I said, 'Peter, I hope midwifery is of interest to you, because you may be taking it up!'" She shook her head, "It took him a few seconds to catch on, and when he realized, I thought he would fall over, but instead he took me in his arms, and he went on with his sweet-nothings about how I'd be better soon… I took that as him being happy."

Shelagh had Chummy's hand in her own by the end of the vindication, "Do you think Patrick would be happy too?" she asked hopefully, as if her friend would know the answer. But, as the real meaning came to light, Chummy could only squeeze the inspirited woman's fingers, and wonder how Doctor Turner could feel anything but.

**XXX**

_**Please Review and tell me what you think! I hope some of my Tumblr pals will be amongst those of you to find your way to the end of this chapter!**_

_**Continue?**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**I have officially have already been flattered by you all! Thank you very much for the kind reviews, and here is your continuation as promised! I have also fixed Ch. 1, in which I had spelled "Sister EvangelinA's name wrong!" My apologies for that! Please enjoy, and I do hope this rendition has the same luster as the last!**_

_**-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)Tumblr**_

_**XXX**_

There is no doubt that there are surprises in Poplar, and midwifery itself. But, the word surprise, although meant to be taken in a positive way, also has a negative connotation.

In one moment, there could be a mother oozing with love for her newborn, the next a woman crying about an unwanted pregnancy.

There are healthy babies, sick ones, and stillbirths. In the East End, all of these things occurred often, but every time, the midwife, the mother, the father, and the community, would be overcome with emotion, ranging from happiness to melancholy. As midwives, we were thrust into the grittiness, the scariness, and the excitement of it all. We were a part of the loving families, the miserable ones, the happy mums and dads, and the fearful ones.

Shoved into the middle of the realness of every relationship, and assistants to the givers of life, we saw more than one could imagine. Good, bad or ugly, there was always another baby. Wanted or unwanted, there was always another baby. Scorned, or loved, there was always another baby. We got to know what a loving mother was, what an unloving mother was, and an uncaring mother was, and depending upon how often we saw these women, we may even know whilst there pregnancy whether they were ready for late night feedings, crying, and neediness. Although not all mothers in Poplar were, there was definitely a mothering type. Said types took surprises with grace, and carefulness as they would with plans, they were never obvious with their discomfort in sticky situations, and took pride in whatever their children accomplished, or even didn't accomplish.

What we didn't expect was amongst us all, that we'd not only see our Chummy become one of these women, but another one of our fellow nurses as well. We had no doubts about either of them. Yes, we thought that out of us all, it was Shelagh, and Chummy that were truly the mothering types, and we were always glad to see our family grow.

But, as we have all witnessed, not everyone likes surprises.

XXX

Patrick had been staring into the fire, swirling the gin in his glass with welcomed boredom, as the dark circles underneath his eyes made it obvious he was gearing down after a busy day, a fag hung from between his lips, smoking profusely, but all of it seemed to rise above their heads, never bothering his wife. A short while after Shelagh and Chummy had finished their chat, Chummy carried Freddie off to bed, and Shelagh took to waiting for Patrick.

He arrived within the hour, but rain had begun to fall, and the sound against the high roof of Nonnatus House indicated that it was a forceful downpour. He entered, soaking wet up to his shins from a nasty puddle at the bottom of the entranceway steps, growling underneath his breath, and Timothy beside him, quite pleased with how damp he had become. While Nonnatus House remained quiet, and Shelagh could hear no more of Chummy and Little Fred, they warmed by the fire while all three of them awaited the precipitation to cease. Peter could be heard grumbling down the corridor as he made his way in, but did not stop to say, "hello" for he hadn't heard or seen their presence in the scurry to the small quarters he and his small family shared there still. Patrick and Shelagh were whispering back and forth, for Tim had curled up in a chair, asleep. Doctor Turner stroked her cheek with his dripping fingertips to see a smile out of his unusually pensive wife. He feared she was angry with him for being so late, but he couldn't have been more incorrect.

The falling drops slowed down considerably, and with his son slung over his shoulder, still soundly snoozing, and Shelagh's hand in his, they ventured to the car, and then drove home. Timothy had been instructed in his sleepy haze to strip of his damp clothing, get into his night garments, and settle down for the evening. After Shelagh had combed through her hair, and washed herself, the two found their way to their own living room, where Shelagh had given him his glass of gin. She herself didn't enjoy the taste, so never joined him in the ritual. Tonight, her nausea had a late start, and the grumbling of her insides was violent at the exact moment she wished it wouldn't be. He was observing her, in the wonderful doctoral way he had a million times before.

This time, instead of lingering glances they shared a mutual confusion. Shelagh was dashing off to the washroom, while Patrick scurried off behind her, gin tossed onto the end table. He hadn't ever seen a sight like this, at least not his Shelagh overcome with such demons. The retching was immense, and the awful way which she breathed through the bouts of sickness made him ill himself. He felt terrible for he could only watch as a spectator in her misery.

Shelagh felt the coolness of the porcelain on her hot cheeks, and the worried stare of Patrick. She hadn't told him of the mess her stomach had been, and the wringing her intestines were experiencing, and hadn't had to, because he had usually been away during these episodes. His flashing brown eyes dug into her like scalpels burrowing deep into her skin, and suspicion grew from his very expression, "What has come over you, love?" His long fingers and large palm touched to her head in the similar way it had only one time before, "You don't feel feverish…"

Innocence shown through in his inflection, and she couldn't help but giggle. He assisted her to her feet, looking quizzical of her as he wet a towel and cleaned her lips. She smiled at the gesture, but gently pushed his hands away.

"I hope it doesn't cause you too much worry," she stated, "but it may be happening for a couple more weeks." She fiddled with her hands as she looked to her feet, overcome with debilitating fright as she awaited his response.

But, he wasn't as quick as he once was, and usually is when not near exhaustion. "What do you mean? Has something gone awry you haven't told me?" he wondered, coming closer the tiniest tad.

"It's no cause for concern," she assured, feeling his hot breath on her face, her illness still a secret. "It's permanent, but will be wonderful, I promise that." She still did not look at him. Now, in the intensity of the silence she inhaled raggedly, attempting to push away tears threatening to fall down her cheeks.

"Don't cry," he insisted wiping a stray tear from just underneath her eye, as she quickly lost control. "We didn't have much of a honeymoon period, but we were much too busy for one anyway. We will find a way to juggle it all."

His reply was like gravel scraping against a chalkboard, he was indifferent, and she found herself hurting from the inside out, "Patrick, do you not—

"Shhhh," he interjected, "don't go putting words in my mouth, now." He flicked a lock of her hair, "If you're happy, I'm happy."

The rivers were flowing, and now the salty waters were cascading down her face, rolling off of her chin, and soaking into the collar of her night clothes. "I am very happy," she quivered, "very happy indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going off to bed."

She slid past him, reaching the door before he said,"Well, I'll join you."

"Don't bother," she whispered, "you haven't finished your gin yet."

It was a still night, she realized as she lay there staring at the wall. She'd only wished she had someone else to talk to, Cynthia, Jenny Lee, Trixie even, but of all, Chummy. Chummy was always so correct and uninhibited by seemingly insurmountable obstacles like these when given time. Her battle with the bicycle goes to show that, her adamancy about Peter toward her mother goes to show for that as well… there were many examples of her high-standing persistence. Shelagh longed for an intuition, rather than these tears she was shedding, and she knew Chummy was well endowed with one, and would, without a doubt, console her the best.

Off in her mind, submerged in deep, self-consciousness and upsetting knowledge of midwifery and unwanted babies, she hadn't a clue the volume of the shudders she had begun to let out. The walls were paper thin in their home, and Tim's room was just one room over, a fact Shelagh had wished she would have remembered when excusing herself to the bedroom as early as it was.

His tiny feet padded along the hallway soundlessly, and it was only the door which warned her of his impending presence, and stealthy observations. She wiped at her face with her sleeves, replacing her glasses upon her nose, and sat up.

He was slow to come closer, finding Shelagh less approachable lately, although she had remained the same lady she was, except for wearing the wrong clothes as he had made ever so clear. Timothy had been most fascinated by her hair, the color, the length, for he had never gotten to see it without the Habit. But, that had died down, and he had become a little shyer around her, while troubling over what he could call her, sometimes stumbling upon the name, "Sister Bernadette," to find they it was of no meaning anymore.

His eyes were on her now, examining the tracks down her face, as well as the tear stains on the bed sheet. You could see the over-curiousness clouding around him, ready to ask the question.

"Is something the matter, Tim?" she wondered in hopes he'd veer away from his own inquisition.

A floor board creaked underneath him as he climbed to the corner of the bed, his knees to his chin, facing Shelagh with intent to fix whatever need fixing, "Nothing is the matter with _me,_" he heartened. "But, is there something the matter with _you_?"

His boyish features looked utterly concerned, and Shelagh paused for a moment to consider her response, for she felt she must handle this ever so carefully. "No, Tim. Everything is alright," she fibbed, "just a very long day, is all."

"But, I thought you had the day off today, Dad said you watched Baby Fred." He countered intelligently, "You like babies. How did _Freddie_ make you upset?" he wiggled a bit before situating himself again.

Shelagh smirked weakly, "It wasn't the baby who has made me upset." This time she meant to be honest, but would have liked to keep it to herself who had caused the sadness to spill onto her cheeks.

Timothy grew very serious, hopping from his place, and tiptoeing to her side, he whispered, "Was it my father who has made you sad?" In his pronouncement he seemed indefinitely angry. Her cheeks grew hot as the boy grabbed one of her hands from her lap, trying to be so tender with her; he put his palm in hers.

"It was just a misunderstanding, Timothy, surely nothing to become all flustered over…" the woman smiled authentically, feeling the roughness of his young mitts.

"You _are _flustered; don't tell me you're not," he demanded knowingly.

"I'm just a little emotional right now; it's something that needn't any of your worry. I think it's time you get back to bed."

"But, Mum!" he stamped his foot, seemingly oblivious to his remark. It took a moment for Shelagh, a long one at that, while she held the boy tightly to her chest, not wanting to let go. He wrapped his arms around her as well, unsure of the reason for the sudden embrace, positioning his head on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, he admitted, "I just wanted to make you feel better; I didn't mean to be a pain."

She felt the rush of droplets from the corners of each eye again, "You have made me feel better, Tim. Much, much better…" When they let go, he smiled brightly, and pecked her on the cheek.

"I'll just go to my room, then. You look tired," he mumbled, speaking for mostly himself, yawning, "Good night."

"Sweet Dreams, my dear Timmy, and thank you much."

xxx

She only received a night of tossing and turning after her conversation with her Stepson, but still she was somewhat chipper in her morning jaunt to Nonnatus House, sporting her nurse's uniform with a slightly content grin. Chummy had been flippantly strolling slowly, awaiting her friend's company. "What-ho, Shelagh! How are we feeling this morning?" Chummy explored carefully, looming over her fellow midwife beaming brightly for having such a late evening, and most likely getting less sleep than Shelagh.

"Oh, just having a slightly disheartening misunderstanding with Patrick that has occupied most of the space in my mind," she replied truthfully, "I don't feel I could be an asset to the ladies and children to Poplar today, purely based on my own turmoil."

Chummy frowned, touching her shoulder, "What could you possibly be arguing with Doctor over? Shouldn't he be absolutely over the moon at this moment?"

"'Over the moon' does not precisely describe his mindset currently, it's more impartiality than anything else," Shelagh grimaced, "it's not that he was angry or anything, it just wasn't the reaction which I was hoping for, perhaps my imagination got the best of me."

"Well, I am very sorry to hear that," she sympathized as they still were walking. "I'm sure he'll come around, they always do!" Chummy added optimistically.

"Of course," she responded, "It's all very far off now. He has a lot of time."

Chummy smiled again, "We're supposed to be partnered, today. Now that this has been projected to be a slow month, a few days a week we may be paired up with another. My wish is to avoid the wrathful association of Sister Evangelina," she raised her eyebrows emphatically, and foolishly.

"I'm sure Sister Julienne will be kind when determining the schedule," Shelagh reassured.

"I _am _frightfully sorry Patrick doesn't see everything the way he should…"

Shelagh sighed. She seemed to be doing that frequently these past few days. "it's quite fine, I suppose he is just one of many of us which do not enjoy surprises."

And with that, she and Chummy went on with their back and forth, as well as their banter, continuing to Nonnatus House to grab their instruments and begin their rounds.

XXX

_**Hope you all enjoyed! Please tell me what you think!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Hello there, this is a pretty long update compared to the others! Hope you all enjoy, don't make fun of the cockney dialogue, I tried my very best! Thank you so much for your reviews! They are what keep me motivated! You're all wonderful!**_

_**-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)**_

_**XXX**_

We all eventually experienced the wrath of bad timing. In midwifery in the East End, this could be as simple as an emergent ring to 459 when the fog was so thick you couldn't see in front of your nose, or as complicated as premature labor, a situation we never wanted to mingle with. It is luck with which you need to have a strong relationship to skate around the hardships, and vengeance of less than laudable timing. Unfortunately, no one in Poplar, and even, Nonnatus House seemed to have a strong advantage with this abstract aspect.

Most of our dear Chummy's pregnancy was during her time in Sierra Leone, but she had never complained of the heat or the inconvenience- even though most considered it unfortunate. Chummy's first labor pains came amidst the delivery of Baby Samantha, Fred's granddaughter. This was a laugh to us at first, but now we barely talk of the day, still slightly afraid of the demons it revealed, and the troubles we couldn't overcome without her. Just the thought made us shudder violently with the lingering fright of it all. Chummy fell victim to it then, but would strive to be the most careful in later dates, even though that still didn't guarantee safety from the tricky devil of ugly timing.

Residents of Poplar were the same way, some went into labor while their husbands were at sea, some went into labor while they were at work, or cooking dinner. But for most, the mere pregnancy was bad timing, the announcement shocked every family member, shook the whole block- made it just a little more crowded. But, the person who was always the most profoundly stunned, to their very core, was always the father. It did not matter the happiness they felt, the shock shines through brighter.

To Shelagh's dismay, Doctor Turner was no exception. But, with only support from Chummy, she seemed to cope fairly. But, ultimately, it was the love of all the Nonnatus Nuns, and midwives that made her entrance into impending motherhood all the more bearable.

XXX

It was the third day of the week, and the second of Shelagh and Chummy being partnered, and they were both well used to each other's company now, that Sister Julienne would feel intrusive to separate them.

Both women, with their bags strapped safely to the rear of their bicycles, mounted, and began to pedal away down Leyland Street to their first patient. Having mastered the bike, dauntlessly spinning to any destination, Chummy found it especially exhilarating to chatter, and comment about the clouds, or the cobblestone, and smile brightly at each passerby or child who gave up a wave or friendly gesture during this brisk morning. It was Shelagh who seemed less than pleased at the wind whipping, and pulling out her pinned up hair, and causing the rosiness in her cheeks to turn a brighter shade of pink.

"What's your tiff with this wonderful morning, Shelagh?" Chummy shouted over the bustling air on her face, "I hope it's not still about baby," she added honestly, almost knowing, and feeling guilt for the fact that she was apt to be right about her assumption.

Shelagh slowed her bike considerably, a tortured expression upon her features. "Although 'tis unfortunate, we still haven't come to agreement. How horribly indifferent he is troubles me, but I don't want him to be dishonest with himself. If this is how he chooses to handle the news, then I must realize it's God's plan."

" Of course ," the tallest agreed, before becoming rather quizzical, "I believe it was Geena Valenti only a few blocks over, who once said to me when I was quite rotund… that a woman becomes a mother when she's realized her state, but a man does not become a father until baby is near on its way or has already arrived," Chummy nodded to herself, pleased that she remembered the mouthful, and then ended, "it had been the first time I'd ever heard such a thing."

Shelagh smiled politely, "Yes, that's a mantra here in the East End- one they've taken from the faraway past," she responded, "you know most men here in Poplar have a difficult time with fatherhood. They haven't been dealt the best hand."

"They do make a good go of it, though," Chummy countered, "as good a go as possible."

"They do," the glowing lady accepted willingly, "I just wish I could think of Patrick in the same light. He'd been rather fortunate until his first wife passed."

Chummy halted her pedaling, and lit up, "I say, Shelagh, why don't you see what Sister Julienne has to say about the matter!?" She seemed very pleased with herself. "After all, she and Doctor have known each other for ages. Perhaps you could see what he felt during his previous wife's pregnancy with Timothy!"

"I could most definitely see what she has to say about it," Shelagh replied distantly, her brakes squealing as they came to a stop.

Chummy cringed, "Perhaps you should have good ol' Fred take a look at your bicycle. I do fear it may be on the way out! We cannot have you wheeling about on an unreliable machine!" She smiled genuinely, taking in her big hand the handle to her bag, and lifted it from where it had been nestled as Shelagh did the same. There was no need for both of them to have their instruments; it had been out of mere habit they both grabbed their tools.

"We're just here to deliver Mrs. Whitman's delivery pack, we mustn't dilly dally, either, because we have three more to rid ourselves of the next block over! Then there's an ear to syringe back this way," Shelagh tucked the delivery pack underneath her arm, while Chummy called at the door.

A plump woman, obviously not the woman they were there for stood in the open doorway. Although they had made many calls to this home before now, Sally Whitman having only been just married was pregnant with her first baby. Neither Chummy nor Shelagh knew who this may be, but were not suspicious, knowing it was most likely the patient's mother, along to assist with household chores that had become too difficult for Sally.

As all were aware in Poplar these ladies at the door belonged there so she was kind in letting them enter, "Oh it's the midwives!" she bellowed happily. "C'mon in 'ere luvvies, she's only up in 'er room havin' a rest! I'm her mum, Angela, but you can call me Angie!"

"Why thank you so very much, Angie! We won't be long with your daughter, just passing by to hand off some soon to be needed supplies!" Chummy replied just as merrily, Shelagh gave a gracious nod, still unlike herself very much. They mounted the stairs together and in sync they climbed to the top. There were multiple rooms, unusual for an East End tenement, but all the doors were closed. If it weren't for Sally opening the door to greet her unknown visitors, it would have seemed to be a game to the both of them.

"Nurse Noakes! Nurse Turner!" the woman said surprised, her feet planted firmly on the floor, balancing her round body with grace, agile eyes watching the both of them. "What a surprise this is!"

Shelagh forced a chuckle, "It's not anything too serious. We're here to give you the things you'll need for when baby is coming."

"Indeed," Chummy agreed, "and of course check-in with you to see how you're feeling…"

The two had adjusted to each other nicely, sometimes able to finish the other's sentence, or easily flip responsibility and task from one to the other without delay. It was an enjoyable sight to observe as they commanded mutually. The others would surely have been entertained.

"I'm feelin' jus' dandy Nurses, wantin' this 'ere baby out though, I tell ya!" she joked. "I'd rather see 'im on the outside of me!"

They all laughed lightly for a second, "Don't we all when it's time?" Chummy played along, "it does get a tad bit exhausting toward the end, I understand, but baby will be here before you know it!"

The woman nodded in agreement, waving them into the room politely, she sat upon the edge of the bed, turning her head thoughtfully to Shelagh.

"Yes, Sally, that's precisely while we're visiting. We've brought you your birth pack." She placed it on the bare dresser, and popped open the top to give better explanation. "There's paper in here which you'll put beneath yourself during labor, and other necessary items!"

Chummy was still standing in the doorway, "And I trust you know when you become aware that baby is in fact, on their way, we're your first call."

"Of course, Nurse. Of course," she shifted to comfort her back.

"You're due in six days," Shelagh added positively, "and it's easy to see everything is in order for your new arrival! Do you have any questions?" she looked around a bit more, taking an unneeded new perusal of the pristine space.

Sally smirked, "I was thinkin' about how bad my backs really been hurtin'…Should I be worried about it?" she asked kindly.

Chummy approached her, "Is it worse than normal?"

Suddenly there were flashes of her own labor, and she began to perspire.

"Yes, quite awful actually," Sally prompted politely.

"Then, that sounds like we need to carry out an examination, doesn't it?" Shelagh interjected, "why don't you just give me a moment to get my gloves, and you can get comfy on the bed."

Chummy stepped back, looking cross, "Yes, I wholeheartedly agree!" She turned around to put her gloves on, and Shelagh took over. Nervously the tallest nurse overlooked the situation, adding every now and then a hopeful comment, such as, 'just a little pressure,' 'it'll be over in a jiff' and 'tickety boo,' until it was entirely finished.

Shelagh glanced over at Chummy assuring with her expression, then to Sally, "No baby yet, just a little excitement is all!" She whipped off her gloves, placing all of her equipment into its case as Chummy chattered in a corner.

Sally looked rather disappointed, but the midwives were not. They still had so much to do. They left with smiles as they refused politely an offered cup of tea.

xxx

Shelagh did not feel as peckish as normal, entering Nonnatus house beside Chummy. She would have rather seen Sister Julienne immediately, but that was not acceptable as she was already seated at the end of the dining table when they came.

Cynthia greeted them with her lovely warm voice, "How are you two? I must have just miss you both when I went to my morning rounds!"

"I'm quite well," Chummy smiled, "but, I must be off to see my little bean! Who may I ask has gone off with him, today?"

The petite lady smiled contentedly, "it was my day off, Chummy. I took him today. Little Fred is in his crib, snoozing rather soundly I might add."

The mother was already scurrying off calling to her. "Thank you so much, dear Cynthia! You are a gem!"

She heightened her volume, "It was my privilege!" Most likely, Chummy had not heard the response, and must have still been uttering her thanks, for they listened to her voice fade gradually as she furthered into Nonnatus House, and within seconds, it was inaudible.

Sister Evangelina appeared next, along with a rather flustered Trixie who had been her partner this morning. Shelagh took a seat, settling, still, and forever, beside Sister Julienne, who always sat quietly, gracefully appreciative of the mingling voices each meal time.

Shelagh took her glasses from her face to wipe them with her white cloth napkin, and then replaced them. Subconsciously, she placed her hand atop Sister Julienne's. It was cool, and bony, but welcoming. "I was wondering if you could spare a moment of your time at some point today. I would very much like to speak to you in private," she asked in a low tone, as if the others wouldn't hear, particularly Sister Monica Joan who had been passing, but who was now sitting where she belonged.

"Of course, my dear girl. I trust nothing is amiss?" Sister Julienne leaned in, nodding, dull blue eyes sparkling with hope and willingness to lend an ear.

"No, not at all," Shelagh assured, "I just wish for your advice."

To her chagrin, the room had been silent, for the others had been awaiting Sister Julienne's prayer to begin the lunch. Sister Evangelina was urging with her eyes, whilst Sister Monica Joan sat looking mischievous, and finally her regular, unusual words spewed from her mouth,

"Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind- Whose words are images of thoughts refined- Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be- Almost the highest bliss of human-kind… Secrets do not make friends; I trust we're all aware of that." And then haughtily she straightened her back, and an exasperated sigh came from the direction of Sister Evangelina. It was all very normal, very every day, but Shelagh was upset by it.

With the conclusion of the tension around the dining table, Jenny Lee fluttered in to join them all, "I hope I'm not too late! Mrs. Hansen's got a little girl! No complications!"

Sister Julienne nodded happily, "How lovely!" then commanded their attention,  
"Now let us say Grace!"

There were smiles all around, as they closed their eyes for prayer.

It was Shelagh's second mince pie, and feverishly she picked at the crust. The clinking of silverware against the plates interwove with the voices in a welcoming fashion, from afar you could hear Chummy moving about, most liking having an afternoon sway with Little Fred.

"You've been unusually quiet, Shelagh. Is everything alright?" Trixie interjected, in mid-conversation. Again all eyes were on the Irish beauty, and she nervously set down her fork.

"So many have asked me that question, today," she replied politely. "I am perfectly fine, thank you. I am hungry, as well as taking advantage of this rest, because as was my morning, my afternoon will be quite busy."

Sister Monica Joan dropped her own spoon with a resounding 'clang." "I am quite sure, she is fibbing. She has a secret which she doesn't wish to tell us!" shook the voice of the eldest nun.

Jenny Lee swallowed hard, "I'm sure that's not the case!"

"Even if it were, Shelagh has a right to privacy, as do all the rest of us!" Sister Julienne scolded. "Now, shall I go get the puddings?"

Even without a response, she was off, doing just that, leaving them all, especially Shelagh to cope for herself.

Sister Monica Joan now sat, purse lipped, and perhaps even a bit cranky, patiently waiting for her rice pudding. The spoon she had dropped so carelessly before was laced tightly in her grasp now, and her legs wiggled with excitement as the abashed silence continued.

"You know, Shelagh," Jenny Lee began. "We don't mean to be pushy," she apologized.

She turned her plate to reach the rest of her portion, then assured, "It's all okay, and there's no need for pouting. That means you, Sister!" she directed at Sister Monica Joan. She gave a wry smirk in return, one not at all sincere, but it was more than good enough for the bright midwife.

"Hopefully, all of you will be pleased to know my news. But, I shall not reveal it until Sister Julienne returns with our sweets," Shelagh teased, chewing on her last bit of filling. She was feeling rather pleased as everyone's curiosities mounted and all grew wired biding the time with mindless chatter, until the puddings were served, and Sister Julienne took her place once more.

Then, all heads turned again, "So, Shelagh!" Trixie bounced, "what is your news?!"

It was all in the moment, excitement took over her, all she wished for was more positive reinforcement, celebration rather than seriousness, more reactions like Chummy's.

"News?" Sister Julienne wondered, "What news are they speaking of?" she looked around with eyebrows raised in speculation. She looked to the young lady to her left.

"I have something to tell you all," Shelagh directed this more to Sister Julienne than anyone else, and reached over again for that familiar, cool, bony hand. "In the Turner Household," she paused, taking a deep breath. "Our family will be growing in the near future," she finished, eyes down on her lap.

There were gasps, and Sister Julienne squeezed her fingers, grinning brilliantly. "My dear girl, what excellent news!" she congratulated.

The puddings were ignored, and hugs were given, "That's absolutely wonderful, Shelagh!" Trixie spouted.

"What Great News!" Cynthia exclaimed with a hop.

Jenny Lee smiled, "No wonder you looked like you were hiding something from us! I did hope you'd tell us, congratulations!"

The Sisters all remained at their seats, happy for the former Lady of God, while the midwives gave their well wishes.

There were many "thank you's" she threw around, and with jazz in the air they began to scoop up their puddings, and enjoy the rest of their meal. Then Chummy came merrily from her personal quarters with Baby Fred in her arms. "I would guess that you've conveyed the good news, eh Shelagh?" She speculated, observing the group so ablaze.

Everyone giggled with elation, as Sister Julienne responded, "That she did, Nurse. That she did."

**XXX**

_**DISCLAIMER: The excerpt of the poem which Sister Monica Joan recites is John Keats, "To Solitude!"**_

_**Thank you so much for reading, hope you liked the reactions of the girls! Please Review and tell me what you think!**_

_**Note: The next chapter will begin with Shelagh and Sister Julienne having that conversation! **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: This chapter seems a little weak to me, but I've read and re-read a billion times and can't find anything to fix. Hope you enjoy! You're all so generous when it comes to reviewing!**_

_**-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)**_

XXX

We had all been through difficult times, and it would be fair to say we'd all had our share of rougher days. We'd all experienced sadness, and faced dangers. We all were witnesses to horrible things, traumatic incidents, and long lasting, fazing horrors. In midwifery, although it was deemed a magical career with babies, and happy mums, and wonderful endings, there was so much more underneath the shiny, blissfulness of a new life. Especially, here in Poplar where poverty reigned powerful, and it was even more known that babies added to already heavy workloads.

But, the difference between us and ladies of Poplar were we always and definitely had someone beside us, willing to help, always loving. We were lucky, because not many people had what we did, not many people could say they were living in a home with as much love as we did ourselves. We were all wonderfully busy with Little Fred, perfectly content with _our_ workload, and entirely there for each other.

It seemed it was Shelagh whose turn it was to need us all. What we thought was joyous news was turning out to be more a charade in the Turner household. We all hoped for a change of heart, or sparkling realization from the Doctor himself, but it all seemed too out of our reach. All we could do, as friends first, was be as supportive for Shelagh as possible, and as midwives to her second, make sure she was receiving the most meticulous antenatal care in all of the East End.

It became our obligation to be comforting to her, but Chummy, along with Baby Fred seemed to be one out of two Nonnatus House residents to help the most. The other, was not surprisingly, Sister Julienne. It was with motherly grace she tended to Shelagh at her touchiest, and gave to her the God ridden advice which she longed for, as well as encouragement she deserved. Together, we moved through each day as one, we garnished each other with hope, confidence, and most of all- love. It is safe to say, none of us would have thrived without help from our Nonnatus Family, and we were all more than thankful. That's why we lived each day prosperous, and more than willing to assist each other in any way possible.

XXX

She felt a chill make its way through her spine, and she shivered a bit before entering the lusciously warm official quarters of Sister Julienne, who after lunch had excused herself momentarily to speak with Sister Monica Joan about her behavior during the meal. This was nothing new, as the rambunctious Lady of God always seemed to have a great deal of mischief she wished to cause, hidden in her own mind, which all of them believed was as foggy as the cobblestone streets of Poplar in late evening.

Shelagh lowered her bottom to the chair, and her hands rested satisfyingly on her middle, basking in fullness, and feeling blessed from her friend's reactions only moments before.

Realistically, she and Chummy should be running along soon, but this was the only time which the Sister could spare, and for any second of her day, Shelagh was more than appreciative. And Chummy wouldn't mind. She was more than excited at the prospect of spending a few extra moments with Baby Fred. Today, she had time to give him a full feeding without one interruption- she hadn't needed to whip away in a flash for any reason, and for the first time in what felt like a very long time for Chummy Noakes, she was able to perch upon a rocking chair, sun peeking through the curtains just enough to light the room, as her child suckled happily at her breast, instead of on a bottle. She would never admit, out of prudish embarrassment, that this is when she felt closest to him, the most needed, the most motherly.

Shelagh had her fingers of her left hand intertwined in the fingers of her right, and she could hear the creaking floor boards of Nonnatus House giving her a reassuring warning that Sister Julienne was well on her way to take care of the matters Shelagh called upon her to discuss.

She stood as the elder woman arrived, smile coming upon her lips at the sight of the curiosity sparking in the blue eyes of the thin nun. "My Dear Girl, what seems to be the trouble?" she asked, stepping closer, until she could sit beside Shelagh rather than across from her on her own desk chair. "It must be important," she added, "for you've barely said a word all day, aside from sharing your news."

Shelagh gave a cringe without realizing, looking to her lap as she did when things became a little too overwhelming for her. "Chummy has been assuring me that Patrick will come around to this idea.."

"Well, it surely isn't an idea any longer. It's real, Doctor Turner must know that by now," she chuckled softly, before turning quite serious, "Are you saying that he isn't thrilled? I can't imagine then he'd be anything less than jumping up and down for joy."

"That's precisely what worries me," she quivered. "But Chummy mentioned something to me this morning, about how you've known him for so long…"

Sister Julienne nodded, "Yes?" she coaxed, carefully studying the young midwife as she worked her way into the reason for her visit.

"… I was hoping, perhaps you could remember what he was like when Tim was born. Were you acquainted with his first wife well enough?" she wondered hopefully, easing through every syllable, apparently nervous of asking such things behind her husband's back. But, the guilt she'd feel later for nosing into his past would never compare to the hurt she felt at this moment, carrying a child that was both hers, and his, and not receiving appropriate help in the process. She was already weakened so much, and she hadn't at all felt like she'd been with child.

The Nun was tender, resting her bony hand upon her forearm, "I was not often in the same room with her, no," she replied, "but, I did deliver Young Timothy, and I will say he never looked as proud until he held his son in his arms. What I believe is he requires time, that may not be the advice you were searching for from me, but I'm afraid that's all I can supply to you at this time."

"I'm not sure how much time I will be able to give him," Shelagh shuddered, accidentally letting a tear stream down her face. "I know I cannot do this by myself."

Sister Julienne frowned, taking her two hands into hers, staring her frankly into her glossy, wet eyes, "I trust you see that you're not alone. We all will be here for you, without question. I am absolutely certain that Doctor Turner will realize the error of his ways, and sweep you off your feet. Men like him will always respect the woman who carries his child, and the level at which he loves you is wholly inconceivable to all of us! Indeed he will come around, My Dear Girl."

Shelagh could not argue with such optimism, especially when it was coming from the woman who had molded her into who she was today. The Order affected her substantially, religion still remained to be a good part of her life, but it seemed those around her took more of her time, her relationships; those especially with her stepson, and husband were first in her mind, always there, always awaiting another thought. "Thank you very much, Sister." She gently pulled away, and began to wring her hands together again, "I'm sure I may be seeing more of you in the future, Nonnatus House still feels very much like my home."

"It will always be your home, here. That will never change." Sister Julienne smiled, "Now you must get Nurse Noakes and hurry along, there are women in need of you both!"

xxx

"My, my, there Nurse Noakes, Little Fred does not seem so little to me anymore!" Doctor Turner grinned, "You must be very proud of how much he's grown. What is he? Nearly four and a half months old, now?"

Chummy held the chubby, sleeping little boy closer, "Yes, I do believe he is growing up right too fast. But, of course, I'd rather him be the tiny little bundle he once was, then he wouldn't be so tiring to these overworked arms of mine!"

They both shared a laugh in the empty clinic, and when it subsided Chummy turned inquisitive, "Speaking of little ones, Doctor, how has Shelagh been faring around the house? Is everything still in tip-top order? I do know how tiresome the first few months can be.."

Patrick loosened his collar with his index finger as he was laying his tools in the sink to be washed, "She's been… well." He glanced over his shoulder at the taller lady, "Timothy has been very helpful since he's found out, and I've done all I can to keep her comfortable."

The midwife sensed the obvious stress in his tone; it was the same as Shelagh's, who she talked to on a daily basis. She felt Freddie's fine hair against the back of her hand for solace, while contemplating something more to say. "She _is _coming in rather soon, if you'd like to wait, we get to take a glimpse of that filled out tummy of hers, what could be more exciting?" she asked gushing, staring down at her own lad, anticipation in her voice, relaying her excitement for them both.

"I do have some evening rounds today, Nurse," he responded quickly. "I would very much like to be here, but it is a matter of scoring. I cannot be two places at once, is all, and Shelagh understands." He wiped a few instruments, seeming to write off the question, only focused on placing the sterile apparatuses in his bag.

Chummy knew she had no reason to be this peeved of his reply, but she countered indignantly anyway, "I'm not sure that's quite the truth."

It was apparent to him that all the Nonnatuns were a little upset with him, and how could they not be? He was being mysteriously foolish.

His speechlessness was enough for Chummy's vindication, and she found herself straying from the back room to the only remaining exam area set-up. She should have put Little Fred into his pram, but, after such a long day in clinic, she couldn't bring herself to put him down. "How could anyone be displeased knowing they have one of you on the way?" she wondered softly to the snoozing boy in her crook. She heard the Doctor leave even before Shelagh arrived, and she hoped they were on speaking terms, for if not, a woman of Shelagh's condition would be a wreck, and Chummy only wished for a pleasant smile from her colleague who now so oft frowned.

She heard the hinges of the Church Hall moan as another entered, poking her head around the drape, she suspected Shelagh, but it was not. Peter approached her with a content smirk, "I didn't see the Pram outside, so I figured you must have the little bean in here with you. It wouldn't hurt for him to get some fresh air on such a beautiful day like this."

"Yes, but, you know I can't let him go! It's been such a long day, Peter, all I need is a good cuddle. Just to get it out of my system!" she pouted adjusting the collar of his uniform, and then placing her attention back to the baby. "Besides, he's been out in the garden all day with Jenny; he can spend a few moments in a stuffy, old church hall with his mum, can't he?" She was entirely polite, honest, and not at all argumentative. She sincerely felt that way, and PC Noakes of course was considerate of her flighty emotions, and he planted a very tender kiss upon her forehead.

He then, ran his index fingertip across the chin of Little Freddie, soft in his eyes, melting with the touch, "I must be off on patrol! Camilla, I love you," he whispered, "Please go easier on yourself. You look exhausted."

"Don't worry, Peter. All is well with me, now you run along! I wouldn't want your superiors to find any reason to scold you!"

He kissed her one last time, quickly but pressing forcefully, so that her lips tingled afterward. She smiled to herself, and then realizing the time, called, "And Peter!?"

The Constable turned, midway to the exit, "Yes?"

She raised her voice, "If you run into Shelagh Turner, could you tell her to speed it up coming my way, not to be impatient, but I would very much like to walk home in the daylight!" The words echoed throughout the room, bouncing to his eardrums, so that he complied with a nod, and another smirk.

Chummy only had to wait a few, short flashes before she was hearing the groaning of the doors again. This time, it was exactly the lady she was looking for.

The woman was beaded with perspiration, clearly having been in a rush, "I apologize for my tardiness, Chummy. It was Mrs. Shulman with some first baby woes, I'm afraid…" She clicked across the solid flooring toward the other midwife, arms swinging vigorously by her sides. Chummy reluctantly placed Baby Freddie in his Pram, and then slipped her gloves on. Shelagh brightly acknowledged the growing boy with a coo, and then went down to personals.

Shelagh was already upon the cot, readying herself for examination. She knew the drill, pants off, sheet on lap. It was only sensible she need not be instructed, although Chummy, out of habit was still muttering the unneeded directions at the already prepared woman.

"Can't hear anything yet, but that's absolutely normal, we'll find it your next visit!" she said referring to the babies heartbeat,

Looking unsurprised, she said, "Well to be fair, I didn't expect a 'thump,' 'thump,' 'thumping' during my first trimester. I _am _as trained as you," Shelagh giggled, seeming to be in a lighter mood, but still quite unhappy. She covered her middle, and scooted around to make herself more comfortable.

Chummy giggled along with the joke, as she began to tidy her space, whistling a tune.

"Oh, please, let me help!" Shelagh insisted, but the woman was already gone, rinsing up everything.

It was then, Baby Fred caught her special deliberation, and the wide awake babe made it so it wasn't long until she was completely dressed again, wonderfully excited to feel the warmth of the small chap against her body, much like every soon-to-be mother's, Freddie (and all other tiny tots) made her heart flutter with amazement.

Chummy was relieved to see the sight from afar, and felt rather proud it had been her little Fred which caused the contented awe in her friend's expression, but her ears perked up, and it seemed the mild mood would be spoiled, for it was Doctor Turner, pink in the face,

"It's just me," he cautioned them both, and then gradually he made his way toward his wife. "Shelagh," he inquired softly. "I believe it's time I admit I've been a fool. Would it be a bother if I pulled you away for a long-awaited chat?"

The grin turned to a meager curvature of her mouth, but didn't completely fade, "Of course, Patrick. I would never say 'no.'"

**XXX**

_**Finally, some Turnadette action! Hope you enjoyed! I hope you all enjoyed, please review and tell me what you think! I hope I don't disappoint you!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Here is the next chapter! A little chat between Shelagh and Doctor, and then some BIG news- oh my goodness! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Thank you very much for the reviews!**_

_**XXX**_

In the arms of the one you love the most is where all of us very much enjoyed being. It's not because you understand that they are the person who gives the fullest of their heart to you alone- it is the certain indescribable warmth, and overwhelming safeness you feel encompassed in their grasp. To find the better half of you is a journey for many- and for _some_ a heartbreaking experience. There are always new chances, fresh starts, and budding opportunities for even a fickle thing like love.

A wrapped up infant nestled comfortably upon a mother's arm is the most definite example of the feeling of jubilating endearment. Baby Fred never seemed as content in any of our care as he did in Chummy's, and that was simply because no one loved him more. To us, the days when Chummy seemed the tallest, therefore the most upset, the only way she would ever look small was wrapped in Peter's embrace. It's because he loved her the most.

We all loved Chummy, but no matter how much, we could never lover her as much as Peter did or she did Baby Fred. It was a cycle that went on and on, grew and grew, and no one would ever understand until they had felt it themselves- and even then it probably wouldn't be clear.

Patrick Turner had seen his fair share of wicked things, felt every emotion possible of feeling, and tried to rise from what he had been left with- just a boy whom he knew very little about. He'd seen his own wife perish before his very eyes, leaving behind he and Timothy. But, then, like an overwhelming shedding of new light on his broken heart, Sister Bernadette, the Nun who had become so much more than just that of Sister Evangelina or Sister Julienne, became the second chance none of us would have ever expected. Shelagh had left the steadiest of things in her life to be with him, to cherish him, to keep him, and most of all to love him. And oh, how he loved her too. But, fear was always lurking in the depths of his forever scarred chest, to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune of times.

Now, it seemed he was crippled into indifference, and that he knew was unacceptable. He was grateful for us Nonnatuns, grateful that we could provide a strong, springing acceptance, and excitement for the vast change that was coming our way. After all, they had done it for Chummy.

But, it was never us members of Nonnatus House he worried about gracefully welcoming substantial transition. It was himself.

XXX

"Why don't we sit down?" he wondered softly, leading her to a chair beside their dining room table. It was hard and uncomfortable, but she scooted around with little effort, and her ponderous gaze meets his. They had driven home in silence, and in Shelagh's even tempered manner it was more than obvious she very much enjoyed his voice in the tense air.

She picked a piece of dust from her nurses uniform, before responding playfully, "I do wish you'd just spit it out! You must admit I know you better than most, so you shouldn't be this weary to tell me what you are yearning to say."

"You see," he let out a sigh of frustration, "what words could I possibly mince together to sound remotely apologetic enough?" He perched on the edge of the table, serious, looking to her for guidance, eyes roaming like a lost puppy. She was disappointed, having been prepared for a well-thought out conjecture, so that was the least unexpected of phrases she wished to come falling from his lips.

Shelagh turned her head away from him for a split second to muffle a sniffle, then her back straightened, and an earnest tear trickled down her face. "Patrick, I am not looking for a mincing together of ones words," she swiped a stray hair behind her ear, feeling somewhat too proper, almost like Chummy. "I would like your honest feelings. I don't think that's a lot to ask for, given the situation."

Patrick lowered himself to the opposite seat, clearly struggling. "I love you very much," he stated soundly. "Every part of you- from your faith, to your ear to ear smile," he swiped each cheek where her dimples were usually, and then continued, "and I love your kindness—

"As much as I enjoy the verbalization of all of my positive traits, the issue is not that which you don't love about me, and I'm entirely confident you know that."

His lips curled upward meekly, "My dear Shelagh, men are a primitive people, you mustn't think for one second that I do not wish for these wonderful adventures with you, but realize I cannot handle it all at once like you have… I'm not…" he frowned before finishing, eyes darkening, "strong enough."

Shelagh let escape a shudder from her very core, "And here I thought you were stronger than I."

His black hair seemed a little greyer to her, then, but his brow was the starkest she'd ever seen, "Not even in the least bit," he admitted, hand resting on her thigh.

There was pleasantness to the feel of his grasp on something more intimate than just her hand or a tender caress to her face. She had been aching for the mere notion he'd take her close.

She kissed him on the lips ever so softly, at that moment. A tease for him, and a tickle to the desires she hoped he also felt, she encircled the shiny gold design on the top button of his jacket before standing.

He stood too. But, in the most polite yet tantalizing manner she turned away, "I must do some tidying up around here. Timothy will be home shortly, and you must finish your evening rounds!"

Patrick sighed. "Yes, I must," he admitted rubbing his chin, "but there is much more to be talked about."

"I couldn't agree more," she nodded, shuffling about, awaiting tomorrow, so she could talk with Chummy, who was the only one aside from Timothy who seemed to keep her calm these days from kindness. All of the other members of Nonnatus House were as supportive, and excited as she hoped they would be, but encouragement didn't feel the same unless it was coming from her significantly taller friend. It was motherhood she supposed that made Chummy's words all the more reassuring. Perhaps if it hadn't been for Baby Fred coming along, she wouldn't seem as credible in her utterances of advice.

There was a soft 'patter' of footsteps coming from behind her, and she turned to watch Timothy enter the kitchen area. "Good afternoon, Tim," she smiled brightly, "how was school, today?"

"It was boring, I hate history…" he groaned, placing his pack on the floor.

Shelagh squeezed his shoulder, "Never say 'hate,' that's an ugly word… It's very possible that you just 'dislike' learning history." She looked down at him lovingly, and then ruffled his hair.

He huffed, "Well, I really don't like it- at all."

She laughed lightly with him, and gestured politely to a chair, "Sit down, I'll get you a glass of milk…"

But he obviously didn't like that idea, "No! I'll get it!" he cried, pushing past her gently to get to the icebox.

Shelagh giggled, "You know Tim, I won't break." She nodded to him, "Pregnancy is very normal, it may not look it, but I do promise it is…"

He looked down to his feet, pausing for a few seconds, and then asked shyly , "What about Nurse Noakes?"

She shook her head confusedly, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean…" the lady responded perplexed.

"She was in hospital for weeks after Baby Fred was born, I don't want that to happen to you." Timothy whispered, "Dad said she was sick, because of when she was having Fred—

"Tim!" she interrupted, crouching to his level, "_Sometimes_ that occurs, not _all _of the time, though! Nurse Noakes had a stroke of bad luck…"

He still seemed upset, but hesitant to say why. Shelagh stroked his cheek comfortingly, "It is true, things can go wrong, but I take very good care of myself."

"Did Nurse Noakes not take good care of herself?" he wondered honestly.

She bit her lip, "Of course she did, but, sometimes the babies have other plans…"

It was true, especially in Poplar where babies reined the most powerful force among the East End.

"What if _this_ baby has other plans, what if _they _make _you_ sick?" Timothy questioned with glossy eyes, and added, "I just want to help!"

"Tim," she began, "this baby will not hurt me, will not make me sick. I really do enjoy that you are trying to be so helpful, but _I _would like to get you your glass of milk. You're growing up much too quickly, and your father and I have both noticed it."

He frowned, "You must be lying, my father doesn't notice anything like that."

"Don't talk about your father that way!" Shelagh scolded, "He works very hard for us!"

Timothy frowned, growing silent. Shelagh moved around, pouring the drink for him, and setting it down on the table, "Drink your milk, I'll scrounge up some cake."

It was an apology, as she served the scrumptious treat when it was time for a real meal. It was more to satisfy a little craving, but also to secretly reward her stepson for his extra sweetness.

She unwrapped two pieces, and put them both on plates. They glanced awkwardly at each other, both picking with their forks at the coconut cream cake, which Shelagh made yesterday from a recipe Miss. B had written down for her. She couldn't help the tension between them, and even felt rather guilty for having been short with him, but this is what motherhood was, having to discipline, but also, having to love.

"Come here, Tim," she ordered softly.

He slid from his chair, walking slowly toward the lady who had beckoned him. She outstretched her arms, and as if they had done this one-million times before, he grasped her firmly. "I love you," she choked, "and you are very important to me." She pushed him gently to arm's length, "run along, and do your homework, and don't tell your father we had cake for dinner, okay?"

Timothy smiled brilliantly, having known what she was up to, and scurried away.

Shelagh grinned widely in satisfaction, and began to scrub at the two plates in the sink.

xxx

It was sprinkling, and the cobblestone was slippery. The morning sun had risen, but had been covered by the clouds. Shelagh entered Nonnatus House; her eyes searched for Baby Fred, for it was again her turn to keep watch of him. She wandered through the halls, finding it unusual that Chummy didn't have him dressed, and ready for the day, because that is how it usually went. Shelagh would take the lad and care for him briefly while Chummy rode off for some rounds on her own, or sometimes longer for a delivery.

Peter's jacket was gone from the hook, so she knew he must be gone to work by now. She knocked gently on the wooden door. "Chummy?" she called in her lovely drawl.

There was no response.

Finally, out of lack of patience, and worry, she twisted the unlocked knob. "Chummy?"

Fred fussed a little in his pram, and usually, 'a little bit' was too much for the finicky new mother who ran to him for anything. Shelagh was immediately concerned, grabbed Baby Fred and entered further into the quarters which her friend shared with her husband.

Chummy was sitting on the bed, pillow in her lap, playing with a piece of paper in between her fingernails, and a look of misery ravaged her normally optimistic expression. "What's the matter?" Shelagh inquired politely.

The tall lady closed her eyes, a tear rolled down her face, "It's this letter," she choked.

Shelagh moved closer, adjusting Baby Fred so that he didn't whimper any longer. "What's in the letter?" she prompted, looking over the top of the handwritten note, attempting to read the scrawl.

There was a long quiet, which Chummy suffered through, "It's Mater…" She shuddered, "She's coming here, to London to get her dresses fitted again. She—she plans to stop by."

Shelagh sighed, remembering the last time Lady Browne came around. It hurt Chummy very much, and none of them wanted to see that happen again. And Peter especially, who had been as profoundly affected by his high and mighty mother in-law than his now wife had been her entire life. "There's nothing I can say to stop her…" Chummy cried, "I say, Shelagh, what if she ruins everything?!"

They both looked to the baby who lay contently, giggling crazily at a cob web fluttering in the draft. "We won't let that happen, I promise you," Shelagh assured.

Red-eyed, bottom lip quivering, she turned to face her friend, who embraced her long enough or her to let her sobs out. Shelagh just hoped she hadn't begun making promises she couldn't keep. It was the love the members of Nonnatus House had for Chummy that made her sure they could pull their friend through. Chummy belonged here, and it was better Lady Browne not be there, because then, Poplar wouldn't feel as much like her home.

**XXX**

_**OH NO! NOT Lady Browne! I totally hate her—not to go against what Shelagh said. But, really. **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hello there! Another update! Wowzers, I'm nearly an overachiever! Hope you all enjoy my take on Lady Browne (yuck) and don't mind a Chummy-esque chapter!**_

_**-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)**_

_**XXX**_

It is difficult to classify another as "good" or "bad." In Poplar, it is hardest to judge by looks, because most often the untidiest of folks are the kindest. A lady bearing the same, ragged, grungy dress, tattered with grease and dirt, could be the nicest of the women we cared for in clinic, and often were. The man who cussed and spat lifting crates by the water's side could be lovely once released from his labors at the docks.

Quickly, I, along with everyone else in Nonnatus House, coming from corners of Britain much different than the East End, learned to maintain our opinions, and remain utterly open-minded. Getting to know the residents of this impoverished end of London was one of the many adventures we were to experience. It was after all, part of life to meet new people, and in such a populous town we did just that nearly every day, and as midwives we were required to care for the worst of them, the ones ungrateful, and the ones unfriendly. Of course, as people out of uniform, we were given the opportunity to make our own friends, and naturally, the ones we truly kept close were those we were surrounded by day to day.

Fred encountered every character of Poplar, from his business ventures, to his gambling. But, mostly, he was submersed in miscellaneous labors for Sister Julienne, so he had developed a rather stark bond with us all. As most were aware, it was Chummy he had taken a particular liking to. Having been drawn in by the shy girl her first days as a Nonnatun, he assembled her bicycle, assuring it was absolutely safe for a beginner. He had strategically floated around Nonnatus House to ensure a smoother transition for Chummy, and that she had—had a definite friendship in close proximity. As a chubby, nearly toothless man, only with the know-how to outsmart the boiler, polish for the most substantial shine, and oil a chain, he would have never guessed that—that precise concept: proximity, would earn him a long legacy in the Noakes Household.

Little Fred was so aptly named for the big hearted fellow, for so much more aside from just the way Fred saw the good in all. It was unfortunate though, that sometimes there may not be good to find in every person. As a tight- knit bunch, we loved each other dearly, especially our growing family, which was now more than just that of the Noakes brood. It was a challenge for us to understand feelings opposite of such. In our opinions, we could not be more pleased with Chummy and her tiny family, and we were very glad she shared them with us.

To have overcome the rottenness to be a mother greater than words, we thought no one to be stronger than Camilla Fortescue Chomeley- Browne- Noakes. Shelagh clung to her for this reason. But, as we all were aware, there was one who could always weaken our beautiful friend, and she lurked around year after year, and this year had been no different.

I, myself, even prayed for strength to give to Chummy, and as did us all, hoped that Lady Browne could have another side. Unfortunately it seemed, as Sister Julienne, and Shelagh would say,

"God had other plans."

XXX

"Let's just keep calm, Camilla. She shouldn't be arriving just yet," Peter soothed, coming closer, breathy in his sweet-nothings as he too was rather nervous. He had wished, (particularly ungentlemanly of him too) that Lady Browne would cease her grand visits after their wedding, even if it was out of defeat…. if only _that_ could have been the case.

She shook underneath his grasp like yesterday, when he had—had to hold her for a cringing moment as she muttered between sobs over their expected, unwanted guest. Peter couldn't stand her in tears, and that's all her mother ever seemed to bring her to. Tears, he realized, could make him very angry, because he knew whenever he saw a droplet springing to the corner of her eye that it had to have _something _to do with Lady Browne.

"She'll be here very soon, and we must get the Little Bean into his best jumper!" Chummy pulled away abruptly, flinging a cloth over one of her broad shoulders, and fetched a new nappy for the boy lying in his pram. He needn't a change, for he was immaculate, and looked quite darling as he was, but poor Chummy was clearly in a panic.

Peter hurried to her side again, "He doesn't need to be disturbed, leave him be!" the father scolded, "Little Fred is in his best already!"

Her shoulders dropped. "Mater won't think so," she quivered. "Please just allow me to fix him nicely!"

He was obviously quite flustered and turning pink to prove it, due to his knowledge she clothed him this morning in her favorite outfit of his, he took the baby himself. "I will not have my son learning to fear his own flesh and blood. If you're this neurotic every time your mother comes around he may develop a complex!"

Chummy pushed close the drawer she was rummaging through, before giving his declaration a second thought. "Are you implying I fear my own mother?" she asked, her tone falsely incredulous.

"I love you, Camilla," he said before letting out a troubled sigh. "But, this is our son we're talking about, our boy…" Peter continued, "and I don't want her coming in here and putting into disarray everything we've made of ourselves." He was truly upset by the end of the statement, bowing his head to hide the solemnity sparkling in his brown eyes. "You should nurse him before you put new clothes on him," he suggested in defeat as he looked up to see the chagrin on her face.

She took from him Baby Fred, "You're right, he must be fed, that way he isn't fussy when she gets here. It's near his time already," Chummy agreed glancing at her wrist watch.

The child was abreast in a few moments, but was just getting on with it as the bell begun to ring. Chummy had been the one who had wanted to answer it, but even in a nervous frenzy would never force Baby Fred to unlatch still hungry. It would be one of the last times they shared a feeding this way, as she predicted he'd be cutting teeth soon, and both of them would prefer the bottle. She shot Peter the most pleading of looks after another impatient ringing of the bell, and then turned her short attention to the baby again. As he scurried away, the much swayed Shelagh, battling some late vertigo, worry riddling her expression, entered playing with a handkerchief, with Trixie following closely behind. They both fidgeted, feeling seriously obligated to keep Chummy calmer than she had been.

"Lady Browne is here," Shelagh announced softly. "Sister Julienne has begun to get some cakes, and Miss. B has the tea on. The good cups have also been set out in the sitting room for when the kettle and treats have been completely prepared."

"Sister Evangelina and Jenny Lee were called away to see to a delivery a few blocks down," Trixie added. "Right now, Cynthia is with Peter, if he needs any support…" The blueness in the blonde's irises were dull with sympathy. "When you're finished, I could take Baby Fred for a ride in his pram—

"No, no!" Chummy exclaimed. "I believe the sole purpose of all of this fuss is so that she be introduced to him," she glanced up to Nurse Franklin so boldly, as she would usually redden under the circumstances, "I do appreciate the offer, though." And then she downcast her eyes once more, stroking his cheek, and then adjusted the cloth draped over herself.

Trixie gulped, "That's quite alright. I will see to it that Cynthia and Peter are faring well enough," and as an afterthought she turned back around, "Fred is out there as well, smelling very much like moth balls, wearing what I believe is his most dapper suit."

Chummy's head shot up, eyes wide. She had told him of Lady Browne's impending visit just a day ago, but she never expected him to show himself at Nonnatus House this day of all days.

She was not ashamed, she knew, glancing down at his namesake, perhaps a little guilty and sick about the notion, but not at all ashamed.

Shelagh chimed in quickly, "The boiler is acting up," she addressed, "and Sister didn't feel right in telling him to be discreet. He only means well."

Chummy was not offended, and the situation didn't need defending from her friend. Fred needn't a reason to be there. It was not him showing up to Nonnatus House which overwhelmed her, it was what her mother may say when he uttered his name… that she may recognize Chummy's doing and then surely this visit would be as diabolical as the last.

Over a month after the event, she had sent post to Lady Browne filled with rather impersonal details of Baby Fred's welcoming, to which she had received the reply of "tremendously sorry," "congratulations," and "must get myself ready for tea."

Chummy had kept the note tucked away for a short time, until finally she worked up the gull to toss it in the bin, realizing it's deeply inflicting diction, she understood that her already screaming soul didn't approve of it always in her breast pocket.

She wiped his mouth clean before pushing her eyes to Shelagh's, "Do you suppose God's willing to lend us a miracle?"

The light danced pretentiously from her cross around her neck off the lenses of the former Lady of God's spectacles. To Chummy's dismay, it was a look of downtrodden hope which occupied her colleague's visage.

Shelagh rested her hands on her round middle. "We're all here for you, Chummy," she reassured. "Now we mustn't leave the other's to entertain Lady Browne themselves. It is baby she's come to meet." She gestured for Freddie, and was handed him very gently. "Straighten yourself," Shelagh ordered politely, seeing her friend's blouse in unmentionable condition. Blushing, Chummy did just that, removing the towel draped over her shoulder, she placed it over the arm rest of the chair she had perched upon, and uncharacteristically, gracefully came to her feet.

"I've made a bally fool of myself already, haven't I?" she muttered miserably, before receiving her son again. He was more enamored with the flightiness of his mother, than he was noticing of the manner which everyone had been excessively passing him back and forth. He settled on watching Chummy's eyes, her pupils bubbled with intense apprehension, causing her arms to feel less of what they usually were.

"You have yet to make yourself look anything of the sort," Shelagh assured, and before she opened the door to lead them to be ravaged by the terrible Lady Browne, she took a deep breath, and on her tiptoes she held the shoulders of the woman before her, "Always remember, that you, Chummy Noakes have made something of yourself, and have succumbed to the most wonderful of all things…"

Chummy looked distant, "and what might that be?" her voice trembled with the question.

"Love," Shelagh replied happily. "Peter and Freddie here- they love you. As do the rest of us. And no matter the situation with your mother, or the amount of venom she spews, we will never change our minds. You have a family, Chummy, and if she finds herself unable to be a part of it, shame on her."

There was a hint of a smile playing upon Chummy's lips, but that would be the closest she'd come to one on this day, for it would surely be an escapade worthy of terrified remembrance.

xxx

"And _this _is Frederick?" Lady Browne asked through pursed lips, looking over the child in high and mighty observance. Whether it was approval, or disapproval, none in the room could determine, but Chummy frowned nonetheless. "I assume you have professional care while you two are… away?"

Cynthia spoke up this time, "We take turns!" she said a little too excitedly for the tense air, and then added, "If Chummy needs to run off for a call, and Peter's on patrol or at the station, whoever has the day off willingly keeps watch of him. Sometimes, the sisters spare a moment to look after Little Fred as well!"

"Oh I see…" she responded, before turning her head to fixate on Chummy. "Camilla dear, you never did tell me specifically of your mission to Sierra Leone…" She raised her brow, "you've never been proficient enough at writing letters."

The whole room grew weary at the blow, most all of them had old letters from that very mission, detailed, and wonderfully absorbing, they were saved to read again whenever they yearned for a little culture. Sister Julienne clenched her fists, Cynthia gripped her saucer tighter, Shelagh pulled harder at the hanky in between her fingers, Peter gripped the back of the couch until his knuckles turned white, and a nearly deafening bang was heard from the boiler room, which meant Fred must have been listening too. Chummy's mouth twitched, searching for an unmixed emotion to choose to display, "It was nothing too unbearably exciting. I contributed my fair share, went on some adventures, but was frightfully careful to remain in one piece," she admired the rosy cheeks of her son, pleased that she had been successful in those early weeks of sweltering heat, and thirst, while battling nausea, and an ever expanding tum.

"Well, perhaps next time you'll be able to remain longer, really apply yourself to the work," Lady Browne stated unwavering.

Chummy shook off the implication, "I believe, with Baby Fred along now, Nonnatus House is where we'll be staying. Peter has his sergeant's exam in a fortnight as well…" she searched for more pressing reasons to remain in the East End.

Sensing the struggle, Sister Julienne seized the opportunity to give extra example, "Nurse Noakes is much needed here, anyway, at least until _she _feels the desire to enter the missions again, or follow another path…"

"Thank you, Sister," Chummy whispered in relief. "But, I really do feel Poplar will stay my home now, at least as far into the future that I can see."

"Well it _is _where your family is, silly!" Trixie interjected naively before covering her mouth with her mistake, eyes directly upon Lady Browne, whose jaw had shut even tighter at the mention.

"Is that so?" she asked in high octave. "Granted, that her _actual _family dwells in lands far more savory, she has a rather poor excuse to be _here_."

There was another bang from the boiler room, and another twitch of Chummy's facial expression. She looked about ready to implode, and she did, "Mater," she grumbled. "I find that I have been given more love here than anywhere I've been with you, and I have never felt more comfortable as far away from your close-mindedness, than I have with Peter."

Silence could be heard throughout all of Nonnatus House. Even from the Boiler Room there was no sound. Shelagh, Trixie, and Sister Julienne sat elbow to elbow stunned of any words. Peter stood behind his wife, relishing every giggle that came from the tiny belly of Baby Fred. He seemed just as proud of his mother as his father was, except Peter's grin was more unforgivable.

"Could I have a private moment with my daughter, please?" she whispered darkly, eyes slits, unmoving off of the adamant Chummy as everyone immediately filtered out. Peter took the frankly jubilant Baby Fred away from her, his mouth still curled upward. "Camilla, dear." She said intensely. "How dare you speak to me in that manner! I am simply relaying my opinion. Why must you be so disrespectful?"

Chummy was white as a sheet. The floor creaked in the next room where Trixie and Shelagh must have been leaning in to hear the goings-on. "I am just showing the same courtesy you've shown to me," she replied courageously. She was unknowing of what to do with her empty arms, as they were barely ever vacant these days. "You've made it no secret that you're all but approving of my decisions. On my wedding day you didn't even pretend to be the least bit happy. When Fred was born you probably didn't even bat an eyelash, and all you have to say when you meet him the first time is, 'and _this _is Frederick?'" She mocked her own mother accidentally in the heat of it all.

"_I _mustn't be blamed for the fact you named your son after a _servant_." Her eyes roared with unwarranted disappointment.

Another crash in the Boiler Room. Chummy grimaced, "Never once did you give me a single piece of advice, or sing to me a lullaby—

"That is all arbitrary! To be a parent, you needn't any of those things!" Lady Browne argued, flipping her fur scarf in frustration.

"But to be a good one, you do!" She exhaled, "My son has the name of a man who befriended me, and who has taught me more than you ever have. You should be pleased to meet your grandson, but instead you've went on with your petty presumptions, and rude pointers. I will kindly show you to the door, if you are to continue, and that would be a shame, considering there's salmon….. smoked!"

It must have sounded right ridiculous to everyone else, but Chummy was on her feet, and headed away whether her mother followed or not, but then she turned, "and if you so choose to make a premature departure, I'm sure Fred would be more than happy to fill your seat at the dining room table."

With that, Chummy wickedly let herself into the kitchen where the others awaited. Peter still fought off pride, Baby Fred still let out shouts of glee, and Shelagh grabbed her hand. She squeezed her fingers tightly while they all stood, anxious.

It was a few moments until Lady Browne showed her face to them all. Shelagh saw her humiliation, and how rightfully embarrassed she was, but felt no sympathy. In fact, much like her fellow Nonnatuns, she was satisfied.

The meal was quiet, aside from Little Freddie's innocent, funny, nonsensical ramblings, and the Boiler Room remained quiet as well.

_**XXX**_

_**Please Review and tell what you think! I'm glad Chummy was brave!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: The next chapter, which is just chock full of some good stuff- if I may say so myself. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You are all too kind!**_

_**-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)**_

**XXX**

As a midwife, no one finds it necessary to give _you _advice on babies, or delivery, or birth. This is quite flawed, as a pregnant midwife needs the same constant reassurances as the housewife does. We know of the process, we've seen other women fall ridden with it hundreds of times, and we know how a baby comes screaming into this world. But, our bodies, although we have this knowledge, are still unfamiliar with a child growing inside.

In labor, one forgets most of what they've learned and relies on nature and instinct. Our Chummy found this out in the most difficult of ways, being the first in Nonnatus House to experience motherhood first hand. She was forced to find out on her own that her skills of midwifery meant nearly nothing when it came to the birth of her own child. Chummy was much more sensitive to the condition now that Baby Fred had entered this world, and who that benefited the most, was Shelagh Turner.

Question after question, insecurities, and fears were thrown at the new mother, as Shelagh became closer and closer to her day. She used her time with Chummy to receive the reassurances Doctor Turner could not give her. There was a special bond being created, one none of us could see with our eyes, rather, it was one we could feel with our hearts.

Shelagh was growing. In more ways than just the obvious- and as we all would, she'd struggle. She'd seek guidance, and she'd find it from few. But, we all were around to help, and enjoyed it, even though we all knew it was Patrick who she needed help from most of all.

XXX

"Do you think- Not to pry," Shelagh promised, rubbing some dust off of her uniform with nonchalance, "that you and Peter will ever have another?" she smiled brilliantly, fiddling gently with Baby Fred's socked foot as his eyes were aflutter with sleep, and he slurped upon his fingers.

Chummy laughed, "Oh goodness, I don't quite know!" She pondered nervously, "Perhaps one day…" Apprehension ravaged her tone, for she still couldn't remember his debut without developing a case of the all-out chills. "I think we have enough excitement planned for the next few months…" she nodded to Shelagh's ever-expanding tum as she folded a knitted bonnet in half, and placed it on her bed atop the two others.

Shelagh chuckled, but then her eyes grew brooding, afraid, "Was it… frightening, Chummy?" she wondered lowly, as if she were just realizing the question was much too heavy for flippant conversation, or even that Baby Fred was much too near to hear what came next.

Chummy stopped to close her eyes, and let the garment she'd been handling fall from her grasp in the process. Those ice-like jabs overtook her spine, and she needed very much to stay still for a few moments, if only to hear in the silence of it, the lovely breathing of her son. Whenever the broken memories became undeniably vivid within her mind, she needed some assurance everything was as it was, and she hadn't been lost in that Operating Theater. She basked in this feeling of maternity. She basked in Baby Fred's giggles, and wails. She loved him so much, and she couldn't bare thinking she'd be without him, or he be without her. "It was," Chummy lost her voice for that moment, and when she regained it, it was nothing like her usual posh inflection, "terrifying."

Shelagh even shuddered, never to remember that terrible day as everyone else did. She and Patrick had not been very aware of the situation until it was well-controlled in hospital. The night had turned to dawn before Patrick had brought the news to her. She had worried, but not as long as everyone else had to, and she felt guilty for such a thing. She felt the guilt even more so now, and fear that she might be downtrodden with this kind of crippling unfortunate unlikelihood when it came her time.

Chummy gripped the pram, as she found her mind again. "But, I assure you, I was well cared for. And you, Shelagh, being a near daughter to Sister Julienne, and married now to Doctor, will receive the utmost vigilance from all of us here. We know the form, it will all be well when _your_ time comes."

She gave a sigh of relief, as the taller of the women's words were most sincere, and reassuring. "Thank you, Chummy—

And before she could speak another word, the ringing of the phone blared from its place on the bannister rooms away, beckoning for them, and shouting for an answer. Chummy was first on-call today, and Shelagh was last. Cynthia was in the sitting room, and mentioned how she wouldn't mind seeing to Baby Fred if this situation did present itself, so his mother began to shuffle a few things together for however long they may be. She set them on her dresser- bottles, nappies, and extra clothes, easily accessible, and at the ready. Shelagh kicked the brake of the Pram, and routinely, Chummy took the handle and pushed off toward the phone. By the time they were both at the attention of the mechanism, Cynthia had already jotted down the needed information, and hung up.

She greeted them with the mouthful, "Mrs. Peverley, down Leyland street, just a few blocks- it's her second, first one was breech, but this baby has turned as per her last appointment at clinic," Cynthia handed them the papers they needed. "I'll just take Baby Fred here."

Chummy let go of the pram's handle, and let the kind, brown haired girl take it from her. As the child was rolled away, she and Shelagh scurried off to find their bags.

xxx

The shouts could be heard even three floors down. Chummy was bouncing up two steps at a time, while Shelagh was breathless holding onto the railing, still becoming used to the extra body she'd been endowed with the past few months. She was heavy in all the right places, even more beautiful than she had been. Everyone was noticing of it, Doctor Turner had turned more affectionate toward her, and Timothy had become somewhat more protective of his new mother, which no one found incomprehensible. They were widely known in Poplar now.

Chummy halted at the top of the flight, looking down the few stairs with a reassuring smirk, "Oh don't worry, Shelagh, there aren't too many more of these dastardly steps."

The color of her cheeks were flushed red, similar to a rose with dew dribbling down its petal, perspiration fell down her face. Her glasses were on the edge of her nose, and she stopped for a breath. Chummy was not worried, for she'd been there, even getting herself onto a train or bus had been a hassle. Peter would inevitably have had to grip her shoulder with all his might, and hoist. It had put a real damper on her independence. After all, she needed lifts from chairs, the bed, and she even had difficulty swinging her leg over her bicycle. Although becoming quite rotund, Shelagh was not nearly as large as Chummy had been cycling down the street. She would find the real peeves of pregnancy were not these creaking staircases.

"If good ol' Mrs. Peverley can get to her floor, then so shall I," Shelagh joked.

Chummy switched her bag to her other hand, and then reached down, wiggling her fingers at the breathless lady, "I say, let me give you a hand!" Her ears twitched at the resounding wails of the laboring mother to-be doors down, and she was very much ashamed to show she was in a rush, but Shelagh seemed to understand.

Shelagh reluctantly took the lent appendage, curling her fingers into Chummy's and ascending a little more quickly. They called at the door, knuckles to wood, and in a few short seconds, a panicky looking Brent Peverley opened it wide. "It's the midwives!" he hollered over his shoulder wiping his mouth, "they've come for you, Mare!" He stepped aside, "Come right in 'ere, she's in 'er bed!" he gesticulated nervously to the opposite room.

"Very good, Mr. Peverley," Shelagh nodded with fist dug into her own aching back. "Let us take it from here!"

He shook his head, "'Er mum is outta town! And I don't got much know-how when it comes to these babies. Me neighbor 'as got little James, and will take 'im for the rest of the evenin'!"

Chummy was trying to soothe him, "How lucky of you to find someone to keep watch of him! Well, don't you worry now! Settle down, and put the kettle on."

"Sure…" he shuddered "jus' please, don't let 'er 'urt as bad as the last one."

Another shout pierced the air, and the two turned their heads to the sound. "We shall do our best," Shelagh assured, as Chummy went ahead of her into the cracked doorway.

Mare Peverley was a tall woman, in better shape than most were in Poplar. She had curls of orange, multiple freckles to match, and spoke without pronunciation. Every word she said was mumbled, and she had only some confidence. She was not nearly as obnoxious as her East End peers, but her hollers were always more gut-wrenching. She squirmed between sweaty sheets, her toes were curled upward, and she groaned through a pain only imaginable to Chummy.

"Thanks for comin'—ooohh," she swiped her arm across her forehead covered in sweat, "me waters 'ave broken, but I couldn't move…" she admitted feebly.

Shelagh snapped a pair of gloves on, as did Chummy. "I'll get you rolled over, then!" the tallest said softly, "Shelagh could you pull those wet pads up for us?"

She happily obliged with a nod, realizing her friend was attempting to take on the heaviest of the duties after her escapade with the stairwell. She nudged the paper from underneath Mare Peverley with ease, working around her own belly. Chummy looked on at the adorable scene, feeling much more mature, when in actuality it seemed they were at the very same checkpoints, experiencing the very same things.

"I understand your mother's away… but you mustn't worry," said Chummy. "The both of us know what needs to be done! As you can plainly see the bags under these old eyes of mine, I have a little bean at home, and Nurse Turner here is a mummy to be! We've surely seen it all, haven't we?" she chuckled, finishing their task by helping her onto her back.

Shelagh felt a jab to her side, but calmed the movement with a little rub as she disposed of the soaked papers. "We certainly have," she added, heading back in time to watch Chummy begin adjusting the sheets that needed straightening, and creating a clearer path to and from the birth canal.

With a towel that had been set out on the nightstand (most likely, this morning at the start of it all), Shelagh dabbed daintily at the big droplets forming on Mare Peverley's hairline, as Chummy moved her nightie so that it was folded over her thighs, "We'll just have a quick look now," she narrated, doing exactly that. The woman's freckled nose scrunched, as she bit her lip.

"How is it looking, Nurse Noakes?" Shelagh asked routinely, still dabbing at the moisture, with her own bottom on Mare's bed.

Mare took a deeper breath, "This one sure is givin' me a nasty ride…" She sat up a little straighter, and Shelagh's arm was brushed aside. Mrs. Peverley curled around herself, letting out one of the most mind boggling shouts, one which startled Shelagh so much, she jumped to her feet. Chummy snickered at her fellow nurse's recently uncharacteristic swiftness, before tending further to their patient.

"No matter, you are getting along very well. It won't be long now, because baby is where he should be!" the tallest encouraged, taking a quicker peek to ensure herself there really was more work to be done in the next hour.

Both Shelagh and Chummy had a similar means of going about a delivery. They only suggested specific ways of pain management, never enforced it. They did not poke around if unnecessary. They oft struck up conversation with the laboring lady if a topic presented itself. They checked for the heartbeat at the highest peaks of pain, and also if pain seemed much too slow. Their strategy was effective, and they were compatible therefore making any of birth they teamed for, smooth.

Once Shelagh had gotten her bearings, she bent over as painlessly as possible, and pressed her ear to the pinard horn, to listen intently. "Baby is sounding entirely perfect," she grinned, relieved.

There were always moments of relief in midwifery, although, situations rarely ever heightened to high levels of apprehension. For this reason exactly, it was especially comforting during these small triumphs, as it meant everything was to nature, and needn't the intervention women, and midwives very much dreaded. Shelagh scooted to her feet, and stuffed the instrument in its place back in her baggage.

"Do you require me to tie your robes?" Chummy wondered as her friend began tugging them from her case, gearing up for the grittiness of delivery a few moments earlier than she.

Shelagh broke a sweat doing the smallest of tasks, and it wasn't due to the strain of them, it was the way eyes watched her, waiting for her to call for help. Chummy was of course attempting to be wholly helpful, not unnerving, so she seldom became frustrated with her. But, when Doctor Turner insisted on tying her shoes in the morning before he left for rounds, or when Fred moved chairs from her path when they weren't even blocking her way, she couldn't feel any more inept. She knew it was all good-heartedness that was the culprit for these little doings, but it did not change the sensitivity she had toward these supposedly subconscious and sort of insignificant gestures.

She shook her head politely, putting in both arms, and then pulled the strings so the garment fit tightly around her bulge, but she was faced with a dilemma she didn't expect. No matter the amount she had grown, or how many times she had-had to go to Chummy to let out her clothing, she could never be unsurprised when it became obvious her shape was ballooning, and the simple gestures she disfavored were warranted. It was in moments so slight like climbing those stairs, pulling on her tights, and exactly now- not being able to go around her entire self with a tie string that fit just yesterday- that it all became somewhat overwhelming, and very real.

A longer groan came from Mare Peverley, and Shelagh was rocketed out of her momentary stubborn, self-absorbedness to accept the help from her friend who had already pulled a white cap on her own head, and been ready before she could even grasp the idea of looking so helpless in front of a patient. She almost didn't remember, Mare Peverley most likely didn't care, and even if she had, would probably forget the moment she held the child currently making his or her debut. Chummy did a loop, one her long fingers had to learn months ago while Baby Fred still resided within her now svelte tum, "Just a little trick I picked up those few weeks around Poplar before Freddie's birthday. You'll have a tad bit more time to learn it…"

And with a pat to her friend's shoulder, Chummy turned, "Alright, Mrs. Pevereley, shall we get you on your side? Nurse Turner, would you be so kind as to assist her keeping her left knee close to her chin, while I have the catch?"

"Don't make 'er 'old up me leg, it's right 'eavier than you'd think!" Mare's voice quaked, as she cringed through another bout of discomfort while she moved onto her side on her lonesome. More fluids flooded the bed, and both midwives saw this as a sign to hop to it. You could see Mare was ready to grit her teeth and get on with it.

Shelagh was quick on her feet, ready to take on the task more than before, to show she wasn't as fragile as the woman assumed. Even someone in a worse state than herself, was still trying to be overly gentle. She went round to the opposite side of the bed, and locked elbows with the Mare's thin, bony crook of her knee, leaning back to the woman's point of near inflexibility.

She pushed before instructed, but Chummy didn't mind as she was at the ready, and so was the baby.

"Right, excellent!" she commented reaching, "the little thing should be here shortly, granted, Mrs. Peverley, you can conjure up one more push or two…" But, there was no need to ask, but more a need to control, "Not too hard now, though, we don't want any unneeded injury!" Chummy ordered, noticing how quickly her gloved hands turned crimson.

Shelagh shifted the slightest, but it made no difference to either of them, determination drove each in every birth.

You could feel some of the exertion make way from her body, but not all, and mother's instinct turned out to be correct. Shelagh watched from her position as baby's head slid quite easily into Chummy's grasp. "Very good, Mrs. Peverley," the supporting midwife enthused. Excitement heightened Shelagh's inflection.

"Now, Dear, I'd say one more, mighty push may have me holding onto your new addition!" Chummy urged, brow arched in the positive fervor.

She had it true. After a grunt and howl, there came tiny cries- cries of the sweetest looking girl, with already noticeable ginger hair. Shelagh let down her leg, so she could rest for the after birth. Chummy clipped the cord, and laid her upon a very ready chest to be warmed by her mother. Mare Peverley released a grateful sob that it was all over, "th-thank you nurses."

But, neither of them needed thanking. This is what they did, and they'd done it yet again.

xxx

Shelagh lay with her legs crossed, her hands resting over her blanketed middle. She looked perturbed, and had acted so after Timothy had gone off to bed. Patrick had noticed, but failed to mention anything during their meal, because he didn't wish for their son to hear of any discrepancies that could send him improperly upset.

So, gently he approached her. "Darling" he began. "Has there been some trouble, today?" The doctor slid himself onto the bed with ease, directly beside her, he placed his left hand atop of hers.

"No, no trouble," Shelagh replied, "Mare Peverley was blessed with a baby girl, today."

"Well, isn't that splendid news?" he asked with an upward curl to his lips.

"It is." She eyed him, understanding he may never give in, she let out a sigh, "I know you're still apprehensive—

He snorted, "I am not," he defended weakly. "I have swallowed my fears. And even so, I've sensed quite a range of more important emotions from _you_. What seems to be on your mind?"

It was quite abrupt how she said it, "I do very much dislike it when you tie my shoes, especially when it makes you late for your morning rounds…" Her expression was oddly stern.

Even with the utter seriousness in her face, the smile crept up on him, and a laugh made way from deep in his belly until the sound of his joy bounced off the walls. Patrick covered his mouth with his palm, trying to muffle them, but it did nothing. Shelagh looked unimpressed.

"I'm being honest, Patrick!" she grumbled.

But, away he went again, until he could spout out in between, "Well, then, I don't have to— unfortunately, there was no avail to his giddiness. Finally, he rolled onto his left to face her as he bit his lip, "Then, I don't have to tie your shoes…." He shook his head in disbelief, "is that _really _what's been on your mind?"

She crossed her arms, "I don't find it at all funny," Shelagh pouted.

Patrick sat up, and got closer to take her hand in his own. He kissed her knuckles like he had hundreds of times before, "I apologize, but my darling, what else can I do for a woman who can nearly do as I? You're a midwife, so I know I can't _say_ anything…"

She pursed her lips, "But, there is much you can say!" Shelagh admitted angrily.

He frowned, stroking her cheek, "What do you need? I'll do anything." Patrick supplied truthfully.

"I shouldn't have to tell you!" There were tears in her eyes, threatening to fall.

He held her then, not wanting her to cry again because of him, "I love you very much." Patrick told her. "And that's one thing I know I will never stop telling you."

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to stop this. He wanted terribly to say the right things. But, the truth was, he couldn't. Patrick Turner kissed her mouth, twirling a lock of her hair in between his fingertips, and she didn't pull away. He moved slowly, to make it so the bed didn't whine underneath him, and straddled her in a way that put no strain against her body. Again, she didn't pull away.

Shelagh felt the fine stubble on his cheeks that was always present this time of night. She burned for him. She couldn't pull away.

Patrick realized then, maybe he didn't have to always _say _the right thing.

**XXX**

_**Please review and tell me what you think! Lots of love! **_


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